


never a bit of you

by mysteriesofloves



Category: Gossip Girl (TV 2007)
Genre: Affairs, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Love Letters, minor/background nate/serena and chuck/blair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29114628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysteriesofloves/pseuds/mysteriesofloves
Summary: “My apologies,” she said. “I thought no one was in here.”Without looking up, the man said, “No one is.”
Relationships: Dan Humphrey/Blair Waldorf
Comments: 22
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this has been a long time coming for me — i started writing this when _the lakes_ leaked, and then taylor released _ivy_ and it fit so well that i’m convinced we’re a little bit connected. this has been really fun to write and i hope you enjoy!

_ I hope for you so much, and feel so eager for you, feel that I cannot wait, feel that now I must have you... I go to sleep at night, and the first thing I know, I am sitting there wide awake, and clasping my hands tightly, and thinking of next Saturday, and "never a bit" of you.  _

— Emily Dickinson in a letter to Susan Gilbert 

* * *

The winter after the Archibald’s marriage had been the harshest Blair Bass had ever seen. She heard of the brittle cold snatching the lives of farmer’s children, of crops having frozen over. But Blair did not live in the countryside. The snow proved only to prevent her from her daily walks, and besides, the winter had nothing on the resentment that had solidified in her chest, from sitting by and watching her childhood best friend make a mockery of the role of hostess. 

It was February, and the cracks in the snow-trodden streets were starting to bloom the tiniest of flowers. Blair crumpled them under the heel of her shoe as she stepped out from the carriage.

A _Bass_ party would _never_ see the likes of a Sparks or Baizen, but Serena was not a Bass, no matter how close she had come, and it was made painfully obvious by the line of carriages preceding Blair’s. 

The Archibald manor was even greater than that of her own, passed down amongst generations, architected as if solely to host grand gatherings. Serena was as easy to spot as a strike of lightning in the dark, head-turning beauty prancing around in the house she owned but would forever look out of place in, more so even in her slewed state. Her lush hair was pinned up like a sheathed sword, her airy giggles carrying in the music. Blair felt sick just watching her.

By the time Blair was finished making her rounds without so much as an elbow to lean on, plastering her forced gentle smile on as she exchanged pleasantries with the most insufferable of couples, it was made painfully obvious, as well, just how alone she felt.

Paintings of Van der Bilt’s past haunted the walls, their paint-dolloped eyes following her down the hall. There were a seemingly infinite number of rooms in the manor, but Blair had memorized the twists and turns that would lead to her favourite of them all, and the most sorely underused.

When she pushed open the heavy door of the library, she felt an immediate rush of relief. Even in the dark, she could make out the familiar line of the plush fainting couch, the rows upon rows of hardly opened books. But as she stepped further inside, she was startled to find that she was not in the dark at all; that there was a single waxed flame lit on the untidy desk. 

“My apologies,” she said. “I thought no one was in here.”

The man sat with a book open in his lap, his head cradled by a hand propped on the desk. His shoulders were hunched, his hair giving the impression of being unbrushed. She had never seen such a man, especially not at a gathering like this.

Without looking up, the man said, “No one is.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know your name,” she said, suspicion and a little excitement rising in her. He must be a lazy staffer, taking a break on one of the Archibald’s busiest nights, who needed a good reprimanding. _Finally,_ an event worth her time. 

“Humphrey,” he told her. “Daniel Humphrey.”

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m –“

“I know who you are,” Daniel said, his tone as dark and guarded as his profile in the shadows of the dim candlelight. He still would not look up from the book. 

“Yes, of course. You’re a friend of Mr. Archibald’s?”

“Friend would be generous, perhaps, although I’d like to think so. I’m employed by Mr. Van der Bilt. His newspaper.”

“I should’ve taken you for a paperboy in those rags. Your wife ought to be ashamed, letting you come out to the Archibald’s like that, let alone out at all.”

“I _write_ for the paper. And I’m not married.”

“A man of your age? I’m in the presence of a rake, then, am I? A friend of Mr. Archibald’s indeed.”

“Mr. Archibald is no more a rake than a house cat these days. But I suppose you would know a thing or two about domesticating a rake.”

“How dare you!”

“You insulted my wife!”

“You don’t _have_ a wife!”

“Mm, yes, but you didn’t know that. So, _had_ I wife, I’d be rightfully offended on her behalf.”

Blair scoffed, waving a dismissive hand at him. “You’ll never find one if you’re hiding in here. Or dressed like that.”

“Need I remind you that you came in here also?”

She had never heard a man speak to a lady in such an informal way before, the way he would speak to a man. Blair felt that she ought to be offended, but like with many unknown things, she only found herself to be intrigued. 

“I needed a break. I’ve a headache. From the champagne and the stupidity alike.”

He smiled. Blair felt an odd sensation of pride at causing him to betray his sullen exterior. 

“Have a seat, then. I won’t have you fainting on me.” 

She looked between him and the velvet fainting couch tentatively, lingering for a good few moments before taking a precarious seat.

He closed the book, setting it on the desk, and ran his hands down his pant legs as if to brush them off. “My sister made these rags. She’s an apprentice to a dressmaker.”

“Are all Humphrey’s unmarried?”

“At the moment, yes. My mother left a number of years ago. My sister wishes not to marry, especially not for money. Which leaves us Humphrey’s in quite the squalor, at least compared to the lot of you.”

“And do you?” asked she. “Wish to marry?

“For love and love only,” he said. He studied her in the way one might study the details of a painting, his eyes narrowed critically. “Are _you_ married for love?”

“Of course I am. I would never marry for anything else.”

That much was certain. If she had not married for love, she would own this very library she stood in.

“What do you mean your mother left?” she asked, her intrigue outwinning her usual composure. 

“Just that,” he said. “We woke up one morning and she was gone.”

Blair felt a chill run through her as if there were a draft. She took a sweeping glance around the library, finding all the curtains drawn. 

“It’s quite the trade, you know,” Daniel was saying. “Dressmaking. I’m afraid it may have more money in it than writing.”

“I do know,” she says. “My mother was a dressmaker before she married.”

“And you?” 

“You already know of my husband.”

Daniel smiled. It seemed that after the first time they became easier to pull from him. “I don’t recall asking after your husband.”

“I don’t quite understand the question, then.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “What do you like to do?”

What any respectable wife in her position liked to do: maintain her household, host gatherings, please her husband when he wanted her to. But Blair had the inclination that those were not the kinds of answers Daniel was looking for. 

“I like to read,” she said instead. “And I... enjoy the theatre. All the arts, really.”

“Were you a student?” he asked. “Before?”

“Of the arts? Oh, no. However, I have studied French.”

“A useful skill.”

“I think so. But it’s not only that. It’s a beautiful language.”

“The language of love,” he mused. “I don’t know it.”

“One thing I have that you don’t.”

“I imagine there are many things you have that I don’t, Mrs. Bass.” His gentle smile turned downward as he looked over her. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” she said, smoothing her hands down the sheen of her skirt. She could tell Daniel did not believe her. “Well, yes, but not just you. Everyone here.”

Daniel leaned forward inquisitively. She wondered if he was as open with everyone as he was with her. Everything about him told her that he mustn’t be, and perhaps that is what compelled her to be open with him back. 

“I don’t see why I must take my husband's last name when I was content with my fathers.”

Daniel’s hand raised to scratch at his chin. He looked to be a day or two unshaven, something more reminiscent of a stable hand than an invitee of an Archibald party. His hands reminded her of those of a marble statue, appealing and slenderly cut. But they were rough, somewhat ink-stained and calloused from a pen hold. Blair looked away guiltily, focusing instead on the spines of the old books lining the walls. 

“I thought you married for love?” Daniel asked. It was less accusatory as his first question of the same vein, more sincerely curious. 

Blair sighed. “Must love lead to consumption?”

“I believe for me it would.”

“Perhaps I would feel the same if given the choice, rather than having it made for me,” she shifted her gaze back to him. She didn’t think a man had ever looked at her with such intensity without an ounce of lust involved. He was waiting to hear what she had to say. “There is something you have that I don’t. The choice.”

“Waldorf,” he said. “You’re the daughter of Harold Waldorf, are you not?”

Blair felt the urge to stand, but wavered when she moved. Daniel held up a hand to stop her. 

“Forgive my insensitivity. I write for the society pages. If you’ve read them you’ll see I don’t believe any of the things being said about him.”

“You should,” she said. “They’re true.”

“Then there is something we have in common. A parent in absence who never bid goodbye.” The candor of his voice compelled her to look his way once again, finding the look in his eyes to be quite the same. “I’ve done my best in the pages to not contribute to the disgracing of the name.”

“Do you want me to be grateful to you?” she said. “Simply because you take pity on a wife and daughter who were left with no notice? You’re not the only man to do so.”

“I have not claimed to be,” he said evenly. “In truth, I find the pages to be mindless blather feeding a town who care more about the private lives of their neighbours than of the real conflicts among them. But a man must make money some way, and I wasn’t built for labour.”

There was a long moment of silence before Daniel stood and moved to the shelf with an empty space, sliding the book back in its place. As vexed as she was by him, she found herself not wanting the conversation to end. It was the only honest one she’d had all night. She rushed to think of something to say that might make him stay, even for a moment longer, but before she could, he spoke.

“Are you alone tonight, Madame Waldorf?”

She grit her teeth at the humorous nickname, but when she looked up at him she found nothing to imply he was joking. 

“Mr. Bass couldn’t get away from work,” she said. It was her rehearsed line for the evening. Something about the way Daniel’s mouth slanted up ever so slightly made her think that he knew this. “And he prefers parties with heavier drink than these.”

“Parties of this caliber seem to be more enjoyable when you cannot remember them the next morning.”

The way Daniel leaned against the bookshelves was so improper that Blair couldn’t help but stare. She felt an intense need to know him.

“It’s been a pleasure,” Daniel said. “But don’t you think it might be time for you to rejoin your friends?”

“They are less my friends and more my neighbours,” she said, feeling deflated by his sudden want to end their meeting.

“If it were up to me, I would continue this conversation all night,” he said quietly, as if he could read her thoughts. “But I’m afraid you’re too grand a presence to not be missed by the others. And if someone were to enter…”

Blair stood immediately. She could feel every beat of her heart as if her ribcage had ceased to exist and it was only muscle straining against flesh, threatening to bleed through. How could she be so thoughtless, letting herself sit and speak to some strange man, while her husband was spent with work across town? What kind of wife was she? What kind of woman?

“Yes, I – I really must be going, Mr. Humphrey.”

“Dan,” he said. “Friends call me Dan.”

“I’m not your friend, Mr. Humphrey.”

“Of course not,” he said. His gaze dropped to the floor as she passed by. “That would be… untoward.”

She hovered in the doorway between the light of the hall and the darkness of the library for a moment before stepping out, plastering her smile back on. 

* * *

_For She Spake, and I Was Done_

_As the others have their wine and bread, I find a place to sit alone instead._

_Not an altar, but a writer’s wake — For it is not Communion that these revellers take._

_(Despite what they say, most lack faith)_

_Sculpted from alabaster, the Mistress begs to disagree. I thought she must have come to absolve me._

_But she tells me no such thing, she tells me she is not my Spring._

_Even now, away from that shrine, I hear her voice as if it’s mine._

_It calls me from the dark, quiet place. It shows me the light in the form of her face._

_(Forgive me, Mistress, but is it such a sin — to pray to see you again, herein?)_

“Mrs. Bass?” Dorota said, the back of her hand coming upon Blair’s forehead. “You look feverish. Would you like me to open window?”

Blair swat her away with the open newspaper. “What I would _like_ you to do is tell me all you know about the Humphrey family.”

There was little to tell, but what little there was proved to be more interesting than Blair could’ve predicted. The elder Humphrey was in the orchestra, and was said to be the current gentleman friend of Serena’s mother, the widow Van der Woodsen. The daughter, Jennifer, had already turned down multiple suitors in favour of her work. The whole family reeked of strange values.

“Did Mr. Bass get a chance to read the paper this morning?” Blair said, gesturing for Dorota to indeed open a window. 

“He was in rush,” Dorota said. “No paper, no coffee, just go.”

Blair tore the page out from the paper. Before bed, she read it over once more, then tossed it into the fire, letting it burn to ash before putting the fire out altogether. The heat had gotten to her. She felt lightheaded and flushed all over. 

* * *

It was the first week of spring by the time the Archibald’s held another party. She had already attended two others, one with Charles and another without, since the last, but found herself particularly anxious to attend this one, especially alone. Alone she would be, and for the first time in her marriage, she was grateful to the work for pulling Charles away from her. She had other matters on her mind for the night. 

After the rehearsed lines and sips of champagne, run through rather more quickly than usual, Blair headed down the hall and into the library, taking in a deep breath to steady herself as she pushed open the door. 

Darkness. True darkness. She rounded the whole space to make sure he was not hiding amongst it, and came up empty. 

Empty.

There was a bottle on the desk next to the unlit candlestick, mostly untouched, and she shakily poured herself a splash. The taste was abhorrent, but it worked to quell the quaking of her hands, her heart. What was she doing? Foolishly waiting around for some musician's son? He wouldn’t come, and even if he did, someone could see them, see her, someone could know — 

“Waldorf?” 

She jumped, turning to the source. His pants were slightly wrinkled, his collar tugged away enough to expose a strip of sweating skin. He looked as if he ran here.

“What are you doing hiding in here?”

She cleared her throat. “I thought you were a journalist.”

“I am.”

“Publishing poetry is a new facet of journalism that I wasn’t made aware of, then?”

Daniel’s mouth opened, then closed again. After a strained-jaw moment, he said, “I do not wish to work for the paper forever. That is, it is not what I want to be remembered for. I want to leave this Earth with more than that. Nathaniel knows this and he... indulges me. He hasn’t been given a choice but he allows me to open one for myself. He’s the best man I know. Perhaps the _only_ good one I know.”

“Very well, then. But you cannot publish these little writings about me in _The Spectator._ Everyone in town reads it.”

“How would they know?” he said. He took a step forward, and Blair knew she must step back, but her feet would not move. “How do you?”

“How do I what?”

“Know it’s about you?”

“You meet many mistresses in dark, quiet rooms, then?”

“I could have dreamed it,” he said. “I’ve written her as such, haven’t I? I could have made it all up. Many writers do.” He took another step. “Do you want it to be about you?”

Blair swallowed down nothing, her mouth so dry her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. “Go ahead, then. Publish all you want.”

“Fine, I won’t publish them. Give me your address and I’ll send them to you directly.”

“ _Ha!_ So it _was_ about me!”

“Of course! _Of course_ it’s about you. We’ve only spoken once and yet, you, Blair Waldorf, are the most difficult woman I have ever met. I haven’t stopped thinking about you for a moment.”

Blair’s breath caught in her throat. He was an arm’s length away, and all she could think is that it was close enough to touch. 

“You should watch your tongue around married women, Mr. Humphrey.”

Daniel deflated visibly, shaking his head. “My apologies. I meant no offence to you or your –“ he paused, tapping his fingers on the shined wood of the desk. “I meant no offence to you. I do that often, let my mouth get away from me. I will not publish any more poems about you.”

“No, you will not.” she said. “You will send them directly to me.”

Daniel looked up, his eyebrows raised. She couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Or to my maidservant, I should say. Dorota Kishlovsky. And she will give them to me.”

When she moved past him, his fingers brushed on the skirt of her dress. 

“Why were you hiding in here?” Daniel asked again. She turned over her shoulder to look at him, his hand clenched into a fist. 

“I wasn’t,” she said. “Out there is where I’m hiding.”

She watched his hand relax, and looked away abruptly when he shifted to face her. At the door, she said, “Is there an address where I may send some materials over to your sister?”

“I would think you to have access to some of the finest dressmakers.”

“I do. They’re for you. I have yet to fulfill my charity for this month.”

She heard Daniel laugh as the door shut behind her. 

* * *

The envelope beared no return address, no signature:

_Never have I been a religious man —_

_But when someone is the first thing you think of when your eyes open to the sunlight, and the last to cross your mind before you drift to sleep —_

_Tell me, is that not a form of God?_

* * *

With her husband inside her, Blair stared at the ceiling. When all else felt awry, she clung to the pleasure he was always able to give her. It was the single thing that seemed to keep them tethered. 

“Chuck?” she said. “Would you call me Mistress?”

“Now? As if I’m the help?” Charles laughed. 

When he finished, Blair closed her eyes and wished a silent prayer that once again, it would not take. 

* * *

_I find myself in a futile profession._

_There are no words in any language that could do justice to her beauty, her mythical rapture._

_I would wish to be a painter if I did not think the paint itself would be ashamed that it could never come close to capture._

*

_I am unsure of the rules of our correspondence, so if you do not wish to answer I will take no offence. I overheard N speak of a gathering for ladies held by S yesterday. I pictured it to be quite dreadful. Am I correct in my conclusion?_

_I hope you know I mean no disrespect to you when I say that it is not the first time I have pictured you. In truth, I believe there is never a time when I am not picturing you, and what you must be doing and thinking. You are a wonderfully strange creature. I am in awe of just the thought of you._

_Yours,_

_DRH_

Blair knew, as the ink bled onto the page, that this was both the beginning and the end.

She told him of the lousy conversation that transpired at gatherings of the sort, of how gossip can only carry such a conversation for so long before growing tiresome and repetitive, and while she enjoyed topics of dress and party and travel, she confessed her wish for company that could span a wider range than just such.

It was not the only thing she confessed:

_I have pictured you as well, just once, so do not think too much of it. It only came about because I was horribly bored._

She enclosed the title of a book that had made her think of him, and asked that he write back his thoughts on it. 

The periods of time between when she sent a letter and waited for his response felt like the longest days Blair had ever lived. The weather was becoming less abominable, the sun rising higher and warmer and not leaving the town in the dark as soon. Blair had never before experienced the exhilaration that she felt when Dorota returned to her bearing a letter in the familiar brown envelope. Blair would run her fingers over the paper gingerly, thinking how it was the very page Daniel had touched. She had the peculiar thought that it would likely be the closest she would ever get to touching him, and felt an odd sense of sickness, both at herself and at the idea.

* * *

_My friend,_

_While the sentiment may not be reciprocated (unless I have grown on you these past weeks?) I feel lucky to have found a companion in you. I had been life’s bystander until I met you. Since that fateful night in the library, things have been different. I have been different. I see everything as a thing I could tell you. But for as lucky as I feel, I believe your husband to be the luckiest man on Earth, to have the honour of having you as a partner. Is it silly that I wish simply to look up from my paper to ask you a question rather than having to write it and wait all these days to hear a response? I’m sure you’ll think so._

_Yours,_

_DRH_

*

_Do you really think me so shallow that I would find such a thing silly? No, in fact, I think you to be too sweet for your own good — overripe fruit is but an acquired taste._

_I found your short story in the paper to be quite dense and macabre. It’s a mystery to me what those editors let you get away with. I think you should stick to poetry._

_*_

_My dear friend,_

_I only meant that you are brutally honest in a way that I have never encountered before (proven again by your letter) and that is something I like about you very much._

_I’m unsure whether to take that as an insult or a compliment. Unless it was meant as both?_

_As for my writing… I’ve been trying not to write about you. It’s near impossible. Unfortunately, I have no poetry to publish that doesn’t spell out the shape of you._

_Did you attend the opera this weekend? I was asked to go and write a review. Normally I would find the whole thing dreadful but the thought of you, maybe sitting somewhere above me, and the way it would surely move you, made me something of a fan. There I go again, wishing to turn and ask your opinion, and for there to be no empty seat next to me._

_Yours,_

_DRH_

_*_

_What’s dreadful is that you would think such a thing of the opera — which goes to show how uncultured you are! I was indeed in the box last night, and indeed was I so moved I hardly got a wink of sleep afterward._

_I hope you do not think I was only moved because I am a woman (even N left with tears, and he understood none of it). I don’t see why it is seen as a feminine sensibility to love the art of tragedy — for is that not the crux of war?_

*

_Dearest friend,_

_You must stop making assumptions of my assumptions. I knew you would be moved because in our talk of life and literature, you have proven a great intuition for these things that I have yet to exercise myself._

_I think I am starting to understand what you mean in your love of tragedy._

_Yours,_

_DRH_

* * *

Blair had hardly noticed the passing of time, her days only punctuated by the excitement of a new letter and the anxiety of the return of her husband at the day’s end. Daniel had said it himself — they were friends, nothing more, and while it was unconventional, it surely couldn’t be seen as bordering on sacrilegious. 

_(Then why,_ she thought, _did it feel as though it was?)_

Blair spent many a spring evening by the fire, reading her latest letter over and over while composing her own response, until the swing and shut of the front door sounded, marking the end to her fleeting happiness once again. When she slipped into bed with her husband after a day of thinking of another man, and he would touch between her legs and ask if she had been waiting for him, for she felt ready to take him right away, what always felt more like a betrayal than the lies she told, was the embers of the fire that flickered before her eyes as she turned those treasured letters to ash, for they could not survive in this house. Nothing could. 

Spring had bloomed and withered, and with it found the Archibald’s in a state of financial disarray after a bad investment made by Captain Archibald, which in turn caused a lack of parties held at the manor. There may have once been a part of Blair that would have found a secret joy in their dismal situation — for she could once again reign as the superior hostess in town — but that was before. Now, Blair felt as though she were a ghost flitting through her own home, throwing marvellous bash after marvellous bash, the smile never quite reaching her eyes. _Daniel would know,_ she would think, _he would hear her humourless laugh and see vacant smiles and he would know._

But no one there knew her as Daniel did. No one there bothered to look close enough. 

Despite the financial downturn, Nathaniel and Serena insisted on hosting Blair and Charles for dinner at the manor — the kind of dinner that those two had despised as children, Blair pointed out. 

They had moved from the dining room to the parlour for port and scotch after their meal, the two conversations that ran parallel to each other both moving in circles, ending up in the same places they had been at the start of the night. The door creaked open with little notice, everyone startled by the quiet presence of the maidservant who had entered. Everyone but Blair, that is, who had seen her enter, any sign of life in the suffocation of these rooms drawing her attention. 

“Mr. Archibald,” the maidservant said. “There’s a Mr. Humphrey here to see you.”

Blair’s grip tightened around the stem of her wine glass. She heard wrong. That must be it, for she had been thinking of him in that far off way she was always thinking of him, and had misheard because of it. 

“Did you tell him we’re at dinner?” Charles sneered around the rim of his glass.

“Oh, what’s a moment, Chuck?” Nathaniel said. “We’ve had a lifetime of dinners and we’ll have a lifetime more.” He turned to the maidservant. “Let Dan in.”

Blair was sure she had stopped breathing. She didn’t dare turn in her seat to watch him enter, but she heard the pad of his footsteps across the floor, coming to a hesitant stop behind her. 

“My sincerest apologies,” Daniel said. “I wasn’t aware you had company.”

Nathaniel stood, shaking his head and beckoning him toward the group. 

“No need for apologies,” he said. “Have you been introduced? This is Daniel Humphrey, he writes the society pages, and the critical reviews for the arts section. I’m sure you’re familiar with his work.”

“I don’t read the paper for frill,” said Charles.

Nathaniel waved him off with an easy smile. “And this is Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bass.”

Daniel nodded. “What was your name again?”

Blair was so deeply entrenched in her anxiety it took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her. She swallowed. “Blair,” she said quietly.

Without looking away from her, Daniel said, “I truly didn’t mean to disturb you and your friends, but Mr. Van der Bilt said he had left some papers for me with you. He made it sound quite urgent.”

“Oh, then the apologies are all mine, my friend. It completely slipped my mind.” 

As Nathaniel retreated to fetch the papers, Blair lifted her glass shakily to her lips. She could hear Serena’s smooth, bright voice, but couldn’t make out a single one of her words. Despite being unable to keep the letters, she had memorized each one of them, the scripture written behind her lids with each blink, his handwriting embedded in her. She could feel him watching her, his eyes bouncing around the parlour nervously but always, always landing on her, his focal point, his gaze burning hotter than the fireplace she would spend her days by, thinking of him. The same humidity that grew between her legs then clouded her now. It must’ve been the wine, making her feel so disoriented, so desperate. 

“Mr. Bass?” Daniel’s voice cut through her thoughts. “I was wondering if you had comment on your uncle’s return to your company?”

The question was lost on Blair’s lips as she turned suddenly to Charles and saw him; the familiar tightening of his jaw, the clench of his fist around his glass. 

“How do you know about that?” 

“When you blend into the walls in these decadent rooms as I do, you tend to hear many things,” Daniel cleared his throat. “Would it have anything to do with the worker’s strike?”

There was a tense moment of silence as Charles’ eyes flicked to and from Blair. “That’s no conversation to be had with ladies present.”

“Apologies,” Daniel said again, raising a hand. “I wouldn’t know what was proper for a lady and what wasn’t.”

Nathaniel returned with a large, overstuffed envelope, passing it along to Daniel, who lingered in the space between the seats awkwardly before nodding. “I’ll be going, then.”

“Nonsense!” called Serena. “You just got here. Stay, please. We always have room for more.”

Blair willed herself to look at him directly, feeling her heart would burst when she met his eyes. Daniel swallowed, the pulse of his throat pronounced even in the dim light of the parlour, then shook his head. “I really must go. I have much work to finish.”

Charles scoffed. The sound made Blair unreasonably angry. 

“Is my grandfather being an old pain?” Nathaniel said with a companionable pat to Daniel’s back. 

“Of course not, Mr. Archibald.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Humphrey,” Blair said, surprising both herself and Daniel at finally finding her voice. 

“Yes, pleasure,” Charles mumbled, gesturing for another drink.

“All mine,” said Daniel. He looked only at Blair.

  
  


“I’m burning up,” Blair said as she slipped into the half open door of Charles’ study. He held a cigar in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. 

“Fever?” he said, leaning forward in his seat. She drifted across the room to sit in his lap. The hot moisture that had accumulated between her thighs ever since the Archibald’s was almost unbearable, her sex aching to be touched, to be filled. 

“Yes,” she said, sliding a hand under the open buttons at the top of his shirt to settle on his chest. His worry vanished as quickly as it had appeared. 

“I don’t have time for this, Blair.”

“I need you,” she whispered, ghosting her lips over the shell of his ear. “Inside me.”

He shook his head, the smoke of his cigar curtaining his face from her. “Later.”

“You’ll be too tired later,” she said gently, stroking over her chest, kissing his cheek. “You work so hard. Take a break with me.”

Charles let out that same scoff. Blair stood again, hardly able to look at him. He placed his cigar in a tray on the desk, replacing it with a half-poured glass. 

“Don’t you love me?” Blair said. 

He sighed, all but rolling his eyes. “You know I do.”

“Why did you not tell me about Jack?” she said. “Or this worker’s strike?”

His pause, the worry that overcame him, was almost indiscernible, but she had spent so long loving him with her whole being, she could always see the way he hardened when challenged. 

“I do not concern myself with your job, you may not concern yourself with mine.”

“Is part of my job not to bear you an heir? Should you not concern yourself with that?”

Finally, Charles looked up at her, his eyes narrowed, mouth drawn back in a sneer. “Are you about done?” 

Her lip trembled with the force it took to hold back her harsh, angry tears. She refused to cry in front of him, not when he knew just how to make her feel like a stupid young girl. Instead, she waited to let the tears soak up in her pillow, far across on the other side of the house. She knew that even if Charles were to give her what she asked for, it still wouldn’t satisfy what she so deeply craved. The connection she felt to him would only last as long as their lovemaking did, and then would vanish until the next time. 

She felt increasingly feverish as her mind began to wander to the thought of Daniel. The gentleness of him, the intent and care in which he treated every word she wrote and spoke. She thought of his well-worn writer hands, and how they might feel between her legs, coaxing pleasure from her as he whispered in her ear the enchanting words he wrote for her eyes and ears only. Carefully, she placed her own fingers atop the place only her husband had ever touched. 

She heard the bedroom door open and shut. She pretended to be asleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

_ My dearest friend, _

_ Surely by now you understand my affections, but I fear I’ve forced them on you in a way that is untoward. I will withhold my affections furthermore if it is what you wish. I want you to know I feel no part of what we’re doing to be wrong, but if it is, then the blame is all mine.  _

_ (Fretfully) Yours, _

_ DRH _

*

_ You flatter me. It is something I wish to never hear the end of.  _

_ It is wrong, although it feels nothing of the sort. We’ll just have to reckon with that.  _

*

_ Dearest, _

_ I read a line of French in a novel today. It took two separate dictionaries for me to understand the meaning. After, I closed my eyes and tried to capture the sound of your voice, and twist it to fit the words. I could feel you there with me, from your tongue to my ear, telling me that  _ my luck is so awful that a rabbit’s foot would turn to ash in my hand _ (I did not say that the meaning was particularly romantic). But the meaning holds none, for as you say, the language bleeds love, and I believe in your mouth it would bleed reddest of all. _

_ Ever yours, _

_ DRH _

*

_ I’ve told you before that no other soul reads your letters but you, I, and God. Let us pretend that even the third party is absent. Tell me, what happened to you, when you thought of my mouth and the things it could do? _

*

_ Loveliest,  _

_ It seems as though I am not the only poet in this correspondence.  _

_ You already know the effect you have on me. Am I to assume I have the same effect on you?  _

_ Ever yours,  _

_ DRH _

*

_ I will only say this much — I want nothing more than to return the sentiment of your closing remarks.  _

* * *

The annual Van der Bilt summer solstice ball would go on as planned, and Blair felt that there could be nothing she dreaded more. For what was the point of dressing in her best fabrics, adorned with her most expensive jewels, to drink and dance with all except for the one she longed to see the most? The thought of the long night ahead of her weighed heavy on her shoulders as she entered the grand manor, her arm linked through Charles’ with great force. 

“It always looks so romantic, doesn’t it?” 

Charles offered no answer, busying himself with a sweeping glance of the hall, surely looking for more productive company than that of his wife. Blair did not bother repeating herself.

If nothing else, the food and drink was always divine, even despite the harder financial times the family had found themselves in. Holding a ball of this caliber could prove to bankrupt them, and she could already imagine what Daniel would say when she would recount the night for him in her letter the next day, how he would demean them for their frivolity. It was only because he didn’t understand.

Then there, across the room, she saw him.

She was sure it was a trick of the eye, for he had made a home for himself in the vast darkness behind her lids, and to think she had seen him in the cracks of light was but a daily occurrence for Blair. But it was no trick, she knew as she watched him move through the crowd with his head hung, his hand on the back of a slender blonde Blair recognized from description as his younger sister. 

He looked so different from her Dan, for hers he had made himself clear to be, so much more reserved, almost frightened in the way he curled in on himself. He was dressed as well as any other man there, thanks to the French fabrics she had sent to Jenny a number of weeks ago. 

“Is that not Nate’s writer friend?”

Serena spared no more than a glance over her shoulder. “I’m glad he came. He usually keeps to himself.” Her hand shot up to flag down another tray of bubbles. “I hope tonight will prove useful for him. It should be easy. He’s very handsome, don’t you think?”

Blair swallowed dryly. “Easy?”

“To find him a woman,” Serena said.

He had still not spotted her. By the time she managed to pull her eyes away from him, Serena had already moved on. 

As the dancing commenced, she could feel Charles’ eyes on her as if he were everywhere all at once. Charles never liked her dancing with other men, but such was tradition at these events.

Daniel needn’t utter a word for her to feel his presence. She looked up to find him there, a silent question in his eyes as he nodded back to the ballroom. She placed her gloved hand precariously in his, the realization that it was the first time she had ever touched him making her feel more full of light and air than any champagne could.

“The Mr. and Mrs. will want you to take priority on unmarried women,” she whispered.

“Unfortunately for them, those don’t seem to be the women I’m much inclined to.” As they each took their place in the set, Daniel lowered his voice again. “You look stunning. I’ll get no work done for the paper if I’m writing about you in my head all night.”

Blair willed herself not to smile, her lips pursed tightly as she rolled her eyes at him instead. It proved to be much more of a feat to stop her smile as the dance began, his movements somewhat stilted as was the way for most men of his rank. 

“Where did you learn how to dance, Mr. Humphrey?” she teased. She could feel the way her expression pinched with the force it took to not laugh. 

He shook his head with a smile. When Daniel smiled it was like a break of sunlight through storm clouds, like hope on the horizon, like the promise of a new day. 

“I forced my sister to teach me,” he said. “She said she would only do so if I agreed to bring her here with me.”

“For me?” she said. With every meeting of their hands, the tension in Blair’s shoulders eased away, mounting instead in her chest. Her eyes never left his, each touch sending waves of heat flooding through her veins. 

“For you,” he answered. “I’ve missed you.”

She had missed him too, but to say as much in the moment would surely prove to break her. As the dance came to an end, Daniel’s fingers ran over the bare bit of her arm between the end of her glove and the start of her sleeve. The light touch sent shivers through her body, her want for him so intense she was sure he would be able to feel it simply from that single brush of skin. 

When Daniel bowed, she met Charles’ eyes from across the room.

“What did you and the help have to speak of?” 

“Not much,” she answered Charles.

“He’ll try and chase a story out of you. Did you give him anything?”

Blair allowed her eyes to search about the room until they landed on that dark nest of hair once again. “Nothing of use.” 

“You need be careful of men like that,” said Charles. 

“I’m not a fool,” Blair snipped, drawing her gaze back upon the scowl that curved on her husband's lips. 

“Of course not,” he said sternly. “You’re my wife. Would I marry a fool?”

Charles’ hand came tight upon her elbow. She felt nothing.

When they returned home late that evening, there was an envelope awaiting her. Not brown, but stark white.

* * *

In the past, Dorota had proved to be not only a loyal maidservant, but also a loyal friend. She was the only person Blair could trust to help bring her to the place she needed to be. 

Blair had never seen a building so dreadfully ugly, like the inside of a well, with its bricks exposed and its walls peeled away with damage. She knocked forcefully on the drab grey door, wrapping her cape around her tighter, shuddering with nerves. 

“Blair,” Daniel said, his breath catching in his throat. “What are you doing here?”

She pushed past him into his modestly sized apartment, papers littering the floor around the low bed, well-lit with its large windows, but with little else that made it feel like a proper home. He was disheveled in dress, his hair wild and his hands ink-stained, the way she had so often dreamed of them being. 

“Blair, is something wrong?”

The worry in his eyes only proved her fears. “I love you,” she said. “Isn’t that horrible?”

Daniel took a careful step towards her, his hand coming upon her cheek. Blair sucked in a sharp breath, the gentle touch alone enough to completely undo her.

“It is,” he said. “Only made worse by the fact that I love you too. I have never loved anything so much as I love you.”

“Yes, that I know.”

Daniel laughed, stroking his thumb over her cheek. “Is your ego done growing?” he teased, drawing her face towards his until the tips of their noses touched, tracing the line of her nose with the tip of his own. 

“Dan?” she said. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

She could taste his exhale of breath on her parted lips as she waited. “You said my name.”

“Dan?” she smiled, her own hands raising to run her fingertips over the contours of his face, as gingerly as she had with the beloved letters he’d written for her. 

“Say it again,” he whispered.

“Dan,” she obliged.  _ “Dan.” _

Her impatience overcame her, not able to stand another moment with space between them. She kissed him, and in his kiss she tasted all that she had seen in his smile; all that light, hope, and promise. With every kiss she felt dangerously closer to falling to her knees, wanting nothing more than for Daniel to take her in his arms. But his hands stayed firmly on her cheeks, a space still standing cold between their chests. 

She broke away, the wonder in his eyes softening her frustration. She felt close to tears, although not harsh nor angry. 

“My husband does not own me,” she said, her voice trembling as her hands did. 

Daniel pulled back to look over her, his eyebrows drawn together. “You must know I’ve never thought that.”

“Then why won’t you touch me?” 

He brushed his fingertips over her tender lower lip. “My love, I feel awful for what I’ve done to you. I never meant for you to leave your life behind for me.” He shook his head, withdrawing his hands from her face and taking a step back. “No, I – I did. I did mean that, and that is why I feel so awful. I’m nothing, Blair, I’m no one to leave a life for.”

“How can you say that? You’re – oh, Dan, you’re the most wonderful man I’ve ever met.”

She stepped forward, taking his hands in hers, kissing his knuckles softly. “You haven’t made me do anything,” she said. “I came here on my own.”

She shed her cape, letting it fall to the ground with a dull noise that felt as if it couldn’t be louder in the otherwise silent room. Then she slowly rid herself of her dress, goosebumps raising over her exposed skin, despite the heat that overtook her. His hand came over hers as she tugged at the knot of her corset, still unsure in the way he watched her face, loosening and loosening until it came undone, her breasts pleasantly tender under his gentle gaze. He ran his fingers from her temple to her cheek, down her throat and over her collarbone, tracing delicately, lower and lower until his hand covered the span of her breast, her nipple strained tight with desire on his rough palm. He led her to his bed, scarcely big enough for two, their limbs tangling together as the heat and humidity of the solstice accumulated between her thighs. 

“I hadn’t this in mind when we met,” he murmured, his lips tracing the reddened tracks left by her corset. “You haven’t mistaken my intentions, have you?”

“Now which of us is making assumptions?” she cupped his cheeks in her hands, bringing his mouth back to hers. “And what of my intentions?”

He smiled into their kiss, his hands roaming down the curves of her hips. “What intentions?”

“To have you surrender to me,” she whispered haughtily, threading her hands through his curls, anchoring herself to him at the first touch of his fingers to her sex. 

“Perhaps,” he said, still smiling. “Our intentions were then the same.”

“You’re beautiful like this,” Daniel said, sunlight bathing the room in a golden hue as they lay bare atop the covers, his hand idly caressing her hip.

“In the nude?” she mused.

“Yes, that. But I meant happy.”

She ran her fingers through the hair at his chest, laying her hand over the steady beat of his heart. “You must’ve found me quite ugly when we first met, then.”

“No, never. I could see it in you, the potential to be more than that. I was determined to help bring it out.”

“You’re stubborn,” she said. “I’m thankful for that.”

Never had she felt so revered, so simply loved, with no constraints holding her in place, as she did when Daniel kissed along her collarbone, the dips of her neck, the peaks of her breasts. She had always felt like a prized possession, but never had she felt so simply prized, with no desire for possession lodging itself in the comfortable silence amongst them.

“I received word from my father,” she said. Daniel craned to look at her, eyebrows raised with intrigue. “He sent me a letter,” she continued. “He’s in France. Can you believe it? He says it’s beautiful there, especially this time of year.”

Daniel blinked out into the mostly barren room, his hand running up and down her arm. “Did he give reason for his leave?”

“He fell in love.”

Daniel nodded, smiling softly. “Perhaps so did she.”

“Oh, I’ve been so unthinking. I’m sorry, Dan.”

“Of course not, I’m grateful that you told me. I want you to be able to tell me anything.”

“Anything?” she said. 

“Anything,” he answered. 

Her hand drifted down from his chest to rest on his stomach. “I thought of you,” she said quietly. “Each night in bed. I would…” She lay her hand over his length, stroking him gently. “Think of you touching me.”

He gasped, his eyes shutting as he began to harden once again in her palm. 

“Did you think of me?” she asked. “Did you do this to yourself and think of me?”

He blinked rapidly, turning to face her. She thought of what he said about luck, and she felt truly lucky to touch someone so beautiful. 

“I never…” his breathing turned jagged, his length beating in her hand like his heart. “I wouldn’t allow myself to. But I dreamed of you. Those I couldn’t stop.”

She positioned herself atop him, moving with him in rhythm.  _ This is what it meant to feel fulfilled,  _ she thought, as the sounds of their synced breathing filled the room like that of an impending orchestra. She felt consumed, not by the ever present darkness, but by light, totally awash and burning brighter than the sun.

“I love you,” he said, his hand on the back of her head, pressing her forehead to his. Even though he had said it earlier, it sounded more like a confession in his position now. “I love you. I –“

She called out his name as he finished inside of her, her bliss so pronounced she was sure her vision had gone dark. But when she came to, there was only light.

* * *

It proved more and more difficult to leave and return unnoticed, the cobbled path of her happy escape remaining unwalked altogether some weeks. Inside the walls of that humble abode was the only place her heart felt at rest, out of sorts in her own bed, sharing it with a man who gave her no pleasure outside it. 

Although Blair could not understand it, she felt as though there was something feminine in him, for Daniel touched her in a way she hadn’t thought men to be capable of. Surely, if her husband had been able to give her such gentleness, such generosity, without his passion ever wavering, wouldn’t he have? 

More than their lovemaking, it was his friendship, his company, that she so sorely missed. The sound of his laugh, the touch of his hands. How he would read to her as they lay bare, for bare they truly were together. How he regarded her opinions with the highest value, how he listened to every word she spoke before he continued, how he smiled at her like she was some strange, wild, beautiful thing. She felt uncontainable around him, uncontrollable. 

With each passing day, each moment spent without him, it became abundantly clear that the life she led was no more real than the theatre she so enjoyed. It was the life behind the curtains, every minute in his embrace, frantic even in their languidness, for each ended too soon, that she was meant to be living, that was the truth. 

July had festered the streets with a heat like no other, but weather had never been one to impede an Archibald party. Charles had insisted Blair take Jack along to reacquaint him with their peers, which meant a stilted night of straight-backed smiles and hollow laughter. She watched the clock carefully, it’s menacing hands mocking her as the night ticked away, until she was finally able to evade her handler, making a swift venture down the enchanting halls of the manor.

The heavy door shut behind her, the lock clicking in place, ensuring their safety. Daniel’s face brightened, lighting up like a wick to a flame. She slipped easily into his lap, doing away with her gloves. His cheek fit into her palm as if it was made to be there, every part of her a mould he fit so well into, like they were separated a long time ago and were only now finding each other again. She kissed his forehead tenderly. 

“What is it you do all day? Sit in your melancholy until you see me again?”

“Yes.”

She laughed lightly, giving the tip of his nose a kiss. “You’ve ruined me for him,” she said. “I can’t stand it now when he touches me as if I’m nothing but another piece of property to him. I hadn’t known there could be such a difference.”

Daniel’s hand covered her own, turning to kiss her palm. “You belong to no one but yourself.”

“All but one part,” she said. “My heart belongs to you.”

She kissed over both his cheeks, the marks of her lipstick consumed by the blush that rendered his face beautifully flushed, so warm under her kiss. 

“I wish everyone else would disappear, and we could be together right now, with only the moon and the embers as our witness,” he whispered, sighing as he kissed along the side of her neck, up to her jaw. She could feel the evidence of his arousal clearly cut through his pants, and she stroked a light hand over him through the fabric. 

“We can,” she said. 

“Blair,” he gasped, burying his face against her neck. Her hand moved over him firmer, his hips rocking in place. “Oh, Blair. Please.”

She kissed him once more before standing, and took a careful seat on the edge of the desk. She placed her heels on each arm of the chair he occupied, spreading her knees to make room for him. It should have felt sinful, displaying herself for him in that way — but there was no other way to describe how he looked upon her, other than to say: with a look of worship.

“You’ll need be quiet,” he said. “So the others don’t hear you.”

“I won’t have much trouble with that. It’s you I’m worried will send them running.”

She waited for him to stand, but he did not. Instead, he leaned forward in his seat, pushing her skirt up and away. She held it up for him, watching him as he tugged at her underthings, all while he smiled mischievously. After all, he knew it was near impossible for her to remain silent when he did this to her. He spread her thighs with his hands, his tongue parting the folds of her sensitive cunt, kissing her passionately. The bliss she felt was of another world, her elbows dropping to the desk to keep her upright as she felt the cool touch of his fingers at the entrance of her sex, dipping inside the heat of her. He suckled at her expertly — for he had claimed he needed practice at deriving such pleasure from her, and she had granted him the opportunities, which in turn had proven him to understand each part of her, to know just how she could be unraveled. Her sex pulsed under his reverent kiss, tightened around his clever fingers, the vulgar sounds as loud as a symphony in the silence of the library. She pulled him up by his hair, allowing him to swallow the noise that would have shook the walls had she let it out. She reached to undo his pants hastily, his sigh of relief as he nestled inside her the sweetest sound she ever heard. The desk rocked under the weight of them, his mouth barely leaving hers until she held his face away, kissing under his ear. 

_ Je t’aime,  _ she whispered.  _ Tu rendre plus de heureuse moi que j’ai pensé jamais je pourrais.  _

She silenced herself with a kiss, the pleasure almost too much to bear. There could not have been anything more dangerous or stupid than what they had done, and yet she couldn’t feel safer, more blissfully happy.

“It’s a good thing Nate and Serena scarcely step foot in here,” she laughed. 

His gentle fingers pushed her hair from her face. “We’ve made quite the mess, haven’t we, dear?”

As the night settled down, she spotted him again across the room. As he lifted his glass to her, she felt as though she could not possibly live another day behind closed curtains. 

* * *

Blair huffed, flipping through the pages of the newspaper discarded on the breakfast table.

“What are you looking for, darling?” said Charles, glancing up from the papers he looked over. 

“Society pages,” she mumbled.

“By that Humphrey fellow? I don’t believe he writes those anymore.”

Blair froze in place, her mind and heart racing faster than she could keep up with them. She regained herself quickly, smoothing the tablecloth to busy her hands. “Oh?”

Charles hummed. “The old man needed to make cuts,” he said. “I recommended they start at the bottom.”

“You had him fired?” Blair said, her voice levelled with great strain. 

Charles looked across the table at her, as cold and distant as the day she first met him. 

“I have no say in the goings-on of  _ the Spectator,” _ he said. “I offered my advice, businessman to businessman. What Van der Bilt did with it is up to no one but him.”

Blair let her breath out shakily, unaware altogether that she had been holding it. 

* * *

Blair burst through the door, coming to an abrupt stop at the sight of him. 

“When –“

She fell silent at the raise of Daniel’s hand.

“It only just happened. I hadn’t had a chance to tell you.”

It pained her to look over him, the dark crescents under his eyes all the more shadowed. She took a seat in his lap, his arms wrapping around her at once. Even though she felt how awfully frustrated he was, she didn’t feel it forced upon her, didn’t feel it in his hands when he brought them on her. Before him, Blair believed that there were consequences to being made to feel special. 

Perhaps, she thought, there still was. Perhaps it was this.

She tilted his face to meet hers, running her palms over his cheeks. “Look at you,” she said, kissing him softly. “Have you eaten?”

He nodded listlessly, closing his eyes and leaning into her touch. “It’s okay,” he said, dropping his forehead to her shoulder, burying his face in the arch of her neck. “I’m okay now.”

She brushed his hair from his dark eyes, guilt bubbling in her stomach like a poisonous brew. Daniel hugged her tighter, kissing the corner of her jaw.

“What’ll you do?” she asked.

“Van der Bilt gave me the address of another paper. I’m meant to meet with the editor at the end of the week. A Thorpe something or other, three towns over. I’ll need to make leave today.”

Her heart ached to think of the impending days she would spend without him. She carded her hands through his curls, kissing the side of his slender nose. “You’ll write to me each day?”

He caught her mouth again, sighing into their kiss. “I would let nothing stop me.”

* * *

_ My beloved, _

_ I stopped to sit by the lake this morn, and when I rinsed out my mouth the water reminded me of the way you taste, when I have my tongue along the bud of your sex. I long to see you as happy as you are when I look up from my resting place between your thighs, your face sunlit even in the dark. Tell me, how can I make you this happy always? _

_ Ever and only yours,  _

_ DRH _

*

_ Why must you rinse the mouth I kiss with lake water? Are there not creatures in those lakes that could suck the blood out from your feet, or do the men who tell those stories tell lies?  _

_ As for your question, by never removing your tongue, of course. _

_ Return to me soon, my love. I can’t bear another day of not seeing that silly face of yours. _

*

_ My happiness, _

_ All men tell lies, the men who tell stories most of all. My lie is the life I live without you in it, for it is not living so much as breathing air I wish to share with you and eating a loaf I wish to share with you, walking a path I wish to share with you. For this is why I do not tell stories, I merely share truths. And the truest share of them all is that I love you, blissfully and heretically.  _

_ As for your questions, One — a man must do with what he has. Two — I believe the creature you speak of to be a leech, for which do not reside in our lakes, although I may be mistaken (I oft am). And if I may be so bold (I oft am) I would say to look no further than your own home for such a leech. That husband of yours, who sucks from his workers the fruit of their labour with no empathy or remorse, and worse over, sucks from you, your happiness and youth.  _

_ I miss you, dearest, in the way I am sure the moon misses the sun when it awakens at night, for they can never be in the same place at once for very long.  _

_ Yours forever,  _

_ DRH _

* * *

As the fire consumed the last of the letter, Blair stood from her place on the carpet near the hearth, where the warmth had dried the tired tears she hated to shed. She knew what Daniel would say, how he would cradle her face and kiss her cheeks, tell her to not cry over their fickle situation.

The muffled voices of her husband and uncle-in-law carried through the door. She creaked the door open, holding the skirt of her nightgown as she tiptoed around the corner like a mouse in the walls, scurrying for survival. 

_ “— would be ashamed to see you put the fate of his company in the hands of the likes of Thorpe.” _

_ “You’re one to speak of shame,”  _ Charles was saying.  _ “You would have run us into the ground had I left it up to you. You’ll see, in time, that this was —“ _

Jack nodded, silencing Charles, who turned to look over his shoulder. Jack cleared his throat, bowing his head as he turned to retreat down the hall. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Charles said, curling his hand around Blair’s forearm and tugging her back into their bedroom, shutting the door behind her. 

“You know Thorpe?” Blair said. 

“He was a friend of my father’s.”

“You had Daniel Humphrey fired,” she said, her tongue getting ahead of her thoughts. “You traded him off to Russell Thorpe like cattle.”

Charles laughed, a low, gruff sound. “Jack told me of the way you watched that writer all around the Archibald’s party,” he said. “I simply saw to it that an end was put to your infatuation with him.”

“So it is my fault,” she said. “I’m to blame for his situation.”

“You think William Van der Bilt cared enough for some lowly writer as to relocate him? I did him a favour.”

“You sent him away!”

“He never belonged here to begin with. He’s not a part of our world.”

“He was a part of mine,” Blair said quietly. “He was my friend.”

“And I am your husband,” said Charles. “You do not need friends when you have me.”

* * *

_ Sweetest, _

_ Thorpe has offered me a permanent position on the grounds that I work in-office. I have until the end of next week to give my answer. My father would no doubt call me a fool to pass this by, but he knows, too, how desires kept secret make men most foolish of all. He would die for love, and I am nothing if not my father’s son.  _

_ I’m on my way back to you now. We’ll discuss what to do once I have you in my arms again.  _

_ Yours,  _

_ DRH _

* * *

Blair buried her face into the wrinkled covers of Daniel’s bed, the faint scent of him still lingering. She had escaped to his apartment when she could, if only to lie alone with her thoughts in the room in which they had shared themselves with each other. She felt as though she couldn’t possibly keep herself afloat any longer, that she had drifted through this dark, narrow lake of a life and had come to its end, drowning here in the sheets of a lover she would never get to be with. 

She felt so stifled, so swallowed whole, she hardly heard the door open. She leaped off the bed, caught swiftly by her anchor, holding her tight, her dearest friend, her safest haven. Daniel’s laugh rumbled warmly from his chest to hers.

“Well, I missed you too.” His hand came upon her wet cheek, cradling gently. “Blair, what’s wrong?”

She sniffled into his collar. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“Then I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, frustration burning at her palms as she pressed them to his chest, pushing him away. He withdrew, his brows drawn together as he took a reluctant seat on the edge of his bed. 

“ _ A man must make money some way, _ is that not what you said?”

“I  _ will _ make money some way.”

“But you want to write!”

“I  _ want _ you!” Daniel sighed, dropping his weight on the bed fully, pressing his fingers to his eyes. “How did this become an argument?”

“It’s me who’s pulled you away from life,” she said, pacing through the small open space, loose littered paper crunching under her bare feet like autumn leaves. “Maybe he was right to send you away. I’ve been so selfish, keeping you locked up here. I want no one else to have you, yet I can’t even have you myself.”

“Hold on – Blair, would you stop, please?” He held out his hand, and she took it, clasping it tightly in hers. “What are you talking about? I went on my own, Blair, no one sent me away.”

“Chuck did,” she said. “Losing your spot at the paper, the job with Thorpe, it was all him. He doesn’t want you here, and Chuck always gets what he wants.”

“I don’t care what he wants,” Daniel said, standing again to swipe his thumb under her eye, catching a tear. “What do you want?”

* * *

His hand came under her chin, tipping her head back enough to kiss the bone of her brow, as light and warm as the kiss of the setting sun through the window on their bare skin. He pushed a strand of hair from her sweat-slicked forehead, dropping another kiss in its place.

“My father can’t wait to meet you.”

Daniel drew back, eyebrows drawn together in question.

“He lives with a man,” she said. “They’re like us. Lovers. They’ll let us stay with them. Temporarily, of course. I couldn’t possibly live in the countryside for life.”

Daniel blinked once, then shook his head. “I don’t speak French.” 

“I’ll teach you.”

Her sunlight, he leaned forward to press his lips to the delicate skin over her eye. “Blair,” he said softly. “Think of all the things you’ll lose.”

“No,” she said. “Think of all the things I’ll gain.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translation for the french is: _i love you, you make me happier than i ever thought i could be_ (but like, if it’s wrong don’t laugh at me, it’s off the top of my head!) 
> 
> i thought i would pull back from fic writing as stress increased but actually my need for it has increased tenfold so you’re all stuck with me and somewhat consistent uploads <3 it’s all fodder for the future romance novel. jk. but not really. love you all! (and you can follow me on tumblr at mysteriesofloves).


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